The endless sounds of the phones ringing was tiresome at the police department. Call after call. Various smells entered and gathered into my nostrils. It was a mixture of premade coffee, freshly mopped floors, and the stale odor of another arrested person's clothes. There were four of us in the waiting room. Waiting to be registered and processed. We were all handcuffed and tethered to the metal bench we sat on. There was no way for any of us to even move an inch away. None of us were Houdini or anything close.
An officer approached the waiting area and bawled out,
"Anthony Radcliffe! Which one of you guys is Anthony?" he asked.
One of the cuffed souls replied by lifting his tied hand no more than a few inches. The deputy disconnected the leash connecting the cuff to the bench and escorted Anthony through a secured door. The door read authorized personnel. The door replaced the open space it was removed from abruptly.
It seemed I was next in line to be processed because everyone else seemed to have been arrested and arrived after me. Time was moving slower than a sloth crossing the street. I was full of anxiety and the room was full of regret.
The room resembled an office that was occupied by desks and cubicles. Almost like a call-center that was equipped to handle a large volume of desperate emergency calls. There were no windows and the atmosphere was homely. All you can hear is the constant phone ringing and the chatter that followed.
Another officer came to the area where us criminals were and looked at a document inside a manila folder. He then looked up periodically to analyze each individual until he was sure he had the right person. The officer stopped right in front of me and glanced at me.
"Are you....", he started.
"Yes sir", I finished.
The detective leaned over to unshackle the handcuff from the bench that was also connected to my wrist. I got up and was escorted down a hallway passing various offices. Each office had what appeared to be a man or a woman with a mile-high stack of folders, of all colors, on their desk. Stress level was rising as we kept walking. Corner after corner we marched until a tug on my arm determined that we made it to our stop. I was face to face with a door that had a frosty, glass, privacy window built in. Accompanied was flimsy window blinds that could not even hide the purest of secrets. The detective opened the door and extended his arm in front of me; ushering me inside. He followed and sealed the door behind him. There was not much in the room. Just a large folding banquet table with a small, cheap, and unattractive flower vase. The officer pulled a chair from a corner of the room to relocate it on one side of the table and another on the other side. It was a set up to be face-to-face. The room might of been what was used to play good cop, bad cop.
I was in a room that did not have that large one-way glass window that you see in movies when an audience is observing you while being interrogated. It was much smaller. Maybe it was the size of an average bedroom, but far from a master. There was a conspicuous odor of unpleasant cologne that has depreciated over the course of the day stemming from the detective.
"Have a seat," he said, while pointing to the chair he pulled out. "I'm detective Serrano. I will be the one assigned to your case," he mentioned.
He placed the manila folder onto the table with authority as he sat down; pulling in his chair. Two Ziploc bags were strategically placed beforehand as well. One had my phone and wallet, while the other had the bloodstained pocketknife. There was a deep sigh that he fabricated before he stated,
"You've been a busy man. A really busy man. Just to be frank, did you do it?" asked the detective.
I scrambled for an answer, but confusion took over me. "What exactly are you talking about?" I asked.
"So this is the avenue we are going to be taking, huh?" the detective questioned.
"Why am I here? I haven't done-"
I was interrupted by an officer who hurriedly open the door and stated, "Serrano! We have a 10-999! 10-999 at the Joey's gas station! It's Baker!"
Immediately, the detective ran out the room, but not without telling me to stay put. It seemed like a 10-999 was so detrimental, that every law enforcement officer in the building bolted through the hallway towards the exit. Afterwards, there was not a commotion in sight. The only noise that can be heard was the disturbing beeping of the security box in the hallway.
I waited patiently for detective Serrano to return, but nothing. I even joked to myself about just getting up and marching through the front entrance. The long arm on the clock went from the three position, to the ninth, and then back to the three. My joke was no longer a humorous thought. It converted to reality.
I stood up and moved to the door. I peeked into the hallway. To the left was an empty corridor and to the right, same. I quickly went back to the table and grabbed the Ziploc bags without hesitation. Then, I stepped out the interrogation room and followed the illuminated exit signs. This was almost too good to be true. Unfortunate, but encouraging. Upon my departure of the police station, I held my hand on the door handle. I could not help but hear the loudest silence. It was a very eerie feeling.
As I passed the threshold of the entrance, the bright and blinding light from the sun briefly held me in place. I closed my eyes and let the warmth from sun greet and emit its solar tentacles to comfort me. Helios, the god of the sun, was acknowledging me. A cool draft motioned and kissed every exposed area of my face as Mother Earth exhaled. For a moment, I was feeling at ease, but without the satisfaction.
As my eyes peeled and adjusted to the elements, they automatically fixed themselves across the street where a red car was parked. It was the same red Chevy Cruze. It was definitely Bryant. From where I stood, all I could see is a silhouette of a bald head and another figure on the other side of the window. Not even the brightest day can shed light onto this darkness. My body was frozen and the sun's heatwave could not thaw me. I was under the influence of a trance.
I imagined myself as my father. He was nothing like me. He was a living shell of everything that was nonexistent. A vessel that could only take you no where. Heavy gray clouds trailed him where ever he aimlessly ventured. My sister, Tahani, young and naïve, could not see what was happening. Maybe it was for the better and to keep her innocence from becoming tainted. I've cried countless times everyday watching my dad talk to her. The night's shadow is what guides him to the slew of needles that infuses him with venom. This is what gives him the endurance to hold a discussion--
The driver side window lowered just as quick as my pulse was accelerating. An arm extended in my direction with a gun focusing on me. It was clear from the look on his face, there was no coincidence that he was here. Sounded like thunder when he bawled out,
"Get the FUCK in the car!"
The gun followed me as I made my way towards the vehicle.
"SLOWLY!" he stated.
I could feel my hands shaking as I reached for the back door handle on the the driver side.
"Don't even try no shit either or I'll leave you on the street stretched out." He warned.
When I opened the door I was greeted with the highest concentration of the stench of weed. As I entered and seated myself, it was to my amazement to be in the presence of Bryant and Shan. There was no amount of sunshine that could make this day any brighter. Everything that shines is not gold.
